


Though Death at Times Steps In

by monicawoe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Future Fic, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other, Past Character Death, Past Jane Foster/Thor, Portals, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, Temporary Character Death, Threesome - M/M/M, Valhalla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>near future AU set after Captain America: Civil War (no spoilers, only speculation) </p><p>After a close brush with death, Steve is brought to Valhalla. He watches Bucky back on Earth, and misses him. Thor sees Steve's pain and helps him perform a ritual meant to give closure, but things don't go exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though Death at Times Steps In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> thanks again to my darling beta [counteragent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent)

Valhalla was becoming more familiar. Steve still hadn't explored all of it, didn't think he ever could, despite the fact that he might very well be here forever. There were three routes he'd memorized--the ones that mattered: the door to the pool of Grimhild, the one that led to Bilskirnir where Thor came to pay him a visit and fill him in on what was going on down on Earth, and the gate he'd just passed through, which led to Heimdall. The footpath bridge became a shimmering band of light; Steve slowed his steps as he entered the domed chamber at the other end.

"Do you wish to see him?" Heimdall asked.

Steve nodded.

Heimdall closed his golden eyes and when he opened them again, Bucky was in them—a small but clear image of him. He was lying on the couch, torso bandaged, paging through an old, worn paperback. He turned the page listlessly, focus elsewhere, looking past the edges of the book to the ceiling. After a few seconds he set the book down on his chest, shut his eyes and took a deep but jagged breath, the kind that meant broken ribs and deep bruising. Steve could feel the weariness in Bucky's exhale.

"He fought a difficult battle today," Heimdall said, "but he was victorious. Many lives were saved."

"Is he--" Steve swallowed thickly. _'How'd he get injured? A knife? A gun? Is he okay? Of course he's not okay. **Who** hurt him?'_ The questions churned in Steve's mind, but he found he couldn't voice any of them out loud, because he already knew the answers--could see them etched on Bucky's face like time.

Heimdall blinked and the image was gone. "He thinks of you, often. Honors your memory by fighting."

Steve nodded again, and turned away, stuttering out a 'thank you,' before his sorrow overtook him. Asgard's watcher never begrudged Steve his visits, that he could tell, and he always let him see. Steve was grateful, even though what he saw made him ache—for the love he still felt but couldn't touch, and for the pain he saw in Bucky. Bucky, who carried Steve's shield proudly, who fought whatever needed fighting with a fervor that went well beyond duty, into penance. He was kind to those who needed kindness and ruthless with those who'd done others harm, but afterwards, when he was alone, Bucky seemed _miserable_ \--worn and tired, and far too quiet. Steve had seen him more than once, alone in their Spartan apartment, sitting in a corner with empty bottles strewn around him like cut flowers.

And all Steve could do was watch. That was the worst part about being stuck here. There was no way to comfort the living back on Earth.

#

Steve went to the great tavern hall, Bilskirnir, and drank from an ale horn. The hall was filled with other warrior spirits, some as solid as he was, some more ethereal. Legends, half-forgotten gods and nameless myths ate and told tales of their triumphs while Valkyries rode in and out of the great stone arches in the wall, their winged steeds as silent and humbling as they were.

The thunder rumbling outside became louder, culminating with one huge lightning bolt that struck just outside. Moments later, Thor entered, Mjölnir hanging at his belt. He sat down next to Steve and downed a horn of ale himself before he spoke, "I too know what it is to be without your other half. My Lady Jane..."

Steve nodded in sympathy. He remembered hearing about Jane's illness, about her death.

"She earned passage to Valhalla but she...she refused." Thor looked down at the ground, sorrow banked in his gaze. "She insisted she wanted to die as she'd been born—as a human, whatever the consequences. So, while her soul was still tethered to her dying, mortal form, I performed a ritual. One that would give us both closure." He swallowed. "You are a dear friend, and I would not see you suffer like this. If you'd like I can show you this. You could see Bucky again, share your thoughts with him. Let him know you are at peace and perhaps provide him with some as well."

Steve thought of the pain in Bucky's face, the dark hollows of his eyes and those empty bottles. And even if seeing him again would help Bucky, Steve admitted that his own selfishness would make refusing this opportunity impossible. "What do I need to do?"

Thor smiled. "Follow me."

#

 

Thor placed the last of the runic stones in the circle around them. They were in a room Steve had never seen before, hidden behind Bilskirnir; it had the look of a holy space, with six thin, gilded columns surrounding the lowered, pillow-soft section of the floor where they now sat. Thor began to remove his armor and nodded at Steve to do the same. "The ritual will make you very warm, remove what you can, so you remain comfortable." He gestured at the small crystal bottle he'd brought. "Water from the well of Mimir. I do not know how much you must consume. But it will help your mind attune itself to the working."

Steve stripped off his shirt, still unsure of how dead he could truly be if he still had clothing, and could remove it at will. A Valkyrie had answered his question once, in their language—a disturbing barrage of images, rearranged memories both his and not. He was suspended in his last moment of life—but could only remain so here. If he ever left Valhalla, he'd die instantly.

"I can pass between the worlds, but you no longer can, and your Bucky is still bound to Earth. When the ritual begins, the veil between Earth and Valhalla will thin. Your mind will be able to reach out to Bucky's wherever he may be, and he will see you, hear you, touch you—through me." Thor lifted the bottle, poured some of the liquid inside into a small cup, then handed it to Steve. It looked too thick to be water, and the light of the room was refracted in it like diamonds. "Drink until you hear the sound of bells."

Steve gave him a dubious look, but drank from the cup, emptying its contents in one swig. _Not like it can kill me,_ he thought.

The 'water' tasted vaguely like honey and warmed his throat. He thought for a moment that perhaps he would need to ask Thor for more, but when he brought the cup back down he could _hear_ it, the movement of the cup through the air, the way the metal vibrated of its own accord, ringing with a pitch that was both too high and too low. He could feel it in his bones, in the back of his teeth, traveling up his skull like a small army of insects. He looked at Thor, alarmed.

And Thor smiled back at him, reached his hand out to pluck the cup from his fingers. He brought the bottle to his lips, downed the rest, set the bottle down, and began to chant. Steve couldn't understand the words but he felt their effect immediately. The stones began to glow and then lifted off the floor, turning in a gentle clockwise rotation around them.

"I thought magic was more Loki's style," Steve said as he watched the stones turn. Steve felt Thor's pain a split second before he saw it flash across his features—sorrow like a distant storm. The magical water had altered his perception already—because when he looked at Thor, he could see under his skin, see the raw power in him: mercury blood and lightning-forked veins that ran through his entire body like a spider-web, like a great tree. Thor's eyes were discs of heliacal light and Steve couldn't look at them for long or they'd sear into his retinas forever. "Sorry, I—" Steve looked down at the floor, unable to bear another second.

"You're right, my brother was always more skilled in these arts than I," Thor reached out and took Steve's hand; his skin felt cool to Steve, whose own body was beginning to heat. "But when it comes to true matters of the heart, we all know the right magics needed." He took a deep breath, broad chest expanding and the otherworldly light faded from him, enough that Steve could risk looking at him again. Without his armor, Thor looked somehow even larger, though at the moment it seemed he was trying to make himself small, eyes downcast—rare for the warrior. "Loki taught me this ritual, performed it with me on more than one occasion."

The rawness in Thor's voice grew stronger, "Know that I do this of my own will, out of respect for you. I have seen courage and bravery in you the likes of which are unmatched—even by Asgardians." Thor reached out his hand and placed it gently on top of Steve's shoulder. "Do not let the knowledge that I am the host stop you from saying your goodbyes to Bucky, properly."

Steve nodded, not sure of what response to give to Thor's cryptic disclaimer.

Thor let his head hang as he continued the chant. Steve felt the words thrumming through him, thought of Bucky back home, Bucky alone in a bar, Bucky standing watch on a roof, holding Steve's old shield, polishing it like something cherished; he thought of Bucky reaching for him first thing in the morning, heard Bucky screaming as he fell from the train and Steve couldn't catch him; heard him crying out in horror when the bullets hit Steve.

"Bucky," Steve breathed, longing blooming in his chest. Thor was still chanting, but something about the timbre of his voice had changed, and then _he_ changed. His hair darkened, turning from spun gold to dark chestnut. His body shifted, left arm becoming metal. And when he raised his head again, it was no longer Thor, but Bucky looking back at Steve.

Steve gasped a stunned breath. He was afraid that if he exhaled, Bucky would disappear forever.

Bucky blinked, and leaned forward, brow furrowed in confusion. "Steve?"

"Buck..." Steve reached out a shaking hand, and cupped the side of Bucky's face, marveling at how real he felt. Where his fingers met Bucky's skin, he could see a slight shimmer, like a veil; he could feel, more than see, a glimpse of someone else beneath, and knew, distantly, that it was Thor.

"Steve—what is this?" Bucky swallowed. "Am I dreaming?"

Steve shook his head. "Not a dream."

"Where are you?" Bucky's voice held an edge to it. "You died. I watched you die. And then—they took your body away. Couldn't even let you rest in peace. Wouldn't let me--"

"I'm—it's hard to explain, but I'm on a different planet."

Bucky blinked. "No shit." He cocked his head to the side. "To me it looks like you're in our apartment, only everything's all gold behind you. Was starting to wonder if I was wrong about there being no heaven."

Steve scoffed. "Valhalla, actually."

"Well," Bucky scoffed. "'Scuse me." He sat back on his heels, looked down at his torso. "I had bandages, right?" Gingerly, he ran his fingers over his side.

"Does it still hurt?" Steve asked, bringing his fingers to Bucky's stomach. The muscles felt harder, broader than they had. He knew every inch of Bucky's body by touch and something was--

"Not anymore. I'm a fast healer," Bucky said, pulling Steve closer and his hands didn't feel quite right, and when Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and brought them up to his back he could feel the real breadth underneath—was cognizant enough to know that it was someone else, though he could no longer remember who.

He grabbed Steve's hand, lacing their fingers together and leaned forward into a kiss.

It was gentle and slow and even though they didn't quite feel like Bucky's lips, the kiss was all Bucky. Steve shuddered with the joy and sorrow inside him. "I missed you," Steve said, leaning down next to Bucky's ear, nipping him there gently. "God, Buck, I missed you so much, you have no idea."

"I do," Bucky growled, "I really do." He sat up, curled his fingers into Steve's hair and yanked back, baring Steve's neck and kissed him, working his way towards that sweet spot by Steve's shoulder.

Steve moaned, every cell in his body aware of Bucky's touch, of Bucky here, and real.

"How is this happening?" Bucky asked, inching closer and closer until all it took was a nudge to send Steve falling on his back onto the cloud-soft floor. "How is this possible?" his voice, barely a whisper now, as Bucky undid his pants and Steve helped him pull them down. Steve's own came off just as quickly and then Bucky was writhing against him and he felt heavier but no he'd always felt this way, hadn't he and then he straddled Steve, writhed against him and the pleasant waves of relief running through Steve became something else entirely. Heat pooled low in his gut and he grew instantly hard.

"I want you in me," Bucky said, and then he closed his mouth over Steve's cock, curled his tongue as he moved up and down.

Steve carded his fingers through Bucky's hair, canting his hips as the sweet heat of Bucky's mouth made him see stars.

Bucky pulled back, then slid, sweat-slick, up Steve's torso, leaned in close to Steve's ear, growling, "In me, now."

Somewhere deep in Steve's brain he knew they were missing something, needed something so it wouldn't hurt as much. Bucky's cock rubbed against Steve's as they clasped their hands together, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a small bottle, set just to his right. It was made of the same crystal the magic water had been in, but somehow Steve knew it held what they needed. He reached for the bottle, missed, but Bucky snatched it, opened it and poured the slick over his hand, then closed his fingers around Steve's length.

Steve could barely move fast enough; every fraction of a second outside of Bucky became torture. His hands trembled as he lined himself up and Bucky slid down and then they were joined and light streamed through them, running from his hands through Bucky's skin and traveling through his veins like liquid lightning.

Time slowed, the world around them fell away and there was nothing but them and Steve held Bucky tight as he shuddered his release on Steve's chest. Steve came with a shout, more pleasure than he'd ever known in life running up and down his spine, like all their moments of bliss had pooled together in this one moment. His back arched and his hips lifted Bucky up and then they collapsed together, Steve still inside Bucky.

Bucky nuzzled his cheek against Steve's shoulder, tickling Steve's neck with his breath. "I love you."

"I love you, Buck. I missed you." He wrapped his arms around Bucky's back, pulling him flush against him, the stickiness between them slick and cooling. Bucky lifted himself up, just enough to crush their lips together in a deep kiss.

The world began to ripple around Bucky's shoulders and his features themselves flickered, the spell completed.

Steve's throat tightened. "I'm supposed to—I think this is supposed to be where I let you go and you let me go, where we say good-bye, but I—I can't."

"Then don't," Bucky said and kissed Steve again, twined their fingers together. "Don't." The ripples became stronger, the air all around Bucky starting to waver like heat over asphalt. "Without you, everything is empty. Even the city." Bucky's face flickered again, and Steve could hear the strain in his voice, like it was getting harder to speak. "I don't want to be alone again."

A rift formed in the air behind them, a glimpse of the apartment in Brooklyn.

Bucky clawed his metal fingers into the floor, through the blanket, into the stone below. He clutched onto Steve's bicep with his other hand. "I'm not going back. Not without you."

Steve grabbed onto Bucky, his love turning panicked. He could feel Bucky's heart pounding against his own as the spell gained strength. The portal widened; Bucky lost his grip on the ground, left arm hurtling backwards, pulled as though by a giant magnet.

Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky's right wrist and reached for the column closest him. "I won't let you go," he said, pulling Bucky back in close. "Hold onto me. Stay here."

And Bucky clung to Steve, with all his might, metal fingers digging hard into Steve's shoulder until they pushed against bone.

The apartment's whole living room was visible on the other side of the rift. Bucky started to distort and tear, becoming less solid, someone else's features underneath shining through the cracks. Steve held on as tightly as he could, clutching Bucky to him with one arm, holding onto the column with the other. Bucky grunted as he moved up, fighting against the force of the portal until he too could grab hold of the column with his metal hand.

Steve risked a glance at Bucky. "We got this."

But the spell strengthened, the portal renewed its efforts and the column cracked in half. Bucky screamed as he lost his grip, and underneath his voice was another, deeper one, crying out in agony. _Thor._ Steve's shoulder tore as he took the brunt of the force, holding onto Bucky with his free hand. Lightning crackled around them as the vortex grew larger. Steve grabbed tighter hold of the column, clenching his eyes shut, pleading with whatever powers were at work to leave them at peace, but he could feel his own grip loosening, his fingers starting to slip. And then a thought came to him: What if he could go through the portal with Bucky? But what if he couldn't? What if he would never see him again?

"We got this," Steve said again, and then he let go. They hurtled towards the portal, more lightning crashed around them and then a strong hand gripped Steve by his wrist. Steve looked up to see Thor holding him, straining--Mjölnir hooked around another column.

The pull grew stronger still, but Steve kept all his focus on Bucky, held on to his arm with every ounce of strength he had left. Thor screamed behind him, an agonized sound. Their time was running out. But Steve wasn't going to let go of Bucky, he wouldn't. He'd watched him fall once before and knew he wouldn't survive losing Bucky a second time. Electricity coursed through them, from Thor's grip through Steve's arms and right down into Bucky, where it pooled, gathering in his veins.

Thunder rumbled around them, louder than the roar of the portal, Thor's pain—unbearable now—echoing across the whole room. And then Steve understood. A shudder ran through him—a certainty that one of them wasn't going to survive. The portal was determined to take someone back to the other side, and if they refused to give it its due, then it would take a life by force.

Bucky's eyes flew open and he looked at Steve, determination shining out of him, brighter than the lightning under his skin. He threw his left arm forwards and grabbed onto Steve's forearm.

With one final pull that sucked all the air out of the vast room, the portal snapped shut, leaving behind an unnatural stillness. Steve fell to the floor, cushioned by its softness, breathless from the exertion, still clutching Bucky, Bucky still holding onto him.

Breathing hard and shallow like he'd run a marathon, Bucky settled on Steve's left. He ran trembling fingers, still tingling with energy, over Steve's cheek. "I'm still here."

"Yeah." Steve couldn't understand it himself, but somehow they'd stopped the ritual from reversing by sheer force of will alone. At least for now. "Yeah, you are."

Bucky clenched his eyes shut, and more energy pulsed under his skin. He winced, gritting his teeth.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked. Bucky was in pain—some after effect of the spell, maybe it wasn't over yet after all.

"I'm—I'm okay," Bucky ground out.

And then from his right, Thor's voice said, very quietly. "This is...this is not how the ritual concludes."

Steve snapped his head around and stared at Thor, who was breathing nearly as heavily as Bucky. He looked pale—not just pale, but grey, empty in the way only the dying were. Steve felt his throat go dry as he pushed himself to his knees. "Thank you. Whatever you did to keep him here I—"

Thor's breathing grew more shallow and a pained smile flashed across his features. "This was not my doing," he said.

"He doesn't look so good," Bucky said, sitting up, the glowing energy inside of him leaving a trail in his wake, like a full-body halo. He moved closer to Steve, until they were both kneeling by Steve's side. "You okay?"

Thor laughed, then coughed—a terrible, frail, _human_ sound. "I will be," he said, and clasped Bucky's hand. Bucky's eyes rolled back into his head and his veins lit up again as the energy inside of him returned to Thor.

Bucky let out a shaky, relieved breath, smiling at Steve. "That's better."

Thor's breathing slowed and color bled back into his skin. He looked up at Bucky once more, then sat up, leaning on his elbows and turned to Steve. "I know this ritual, I know how it ends, and this...this is not possible." He pointed at Bucky. "You cannot be here."

Bucky shrugged, unapologetic smirk on his face. "And yet."

"The spell only ends when the portal closes. The portal only closes once it has its traveler." He looked past them, at the spot where the portal had been, stared at something only he could see. "Not possible." He looked deeply confused now, and pushed himself to his feet, walking towards the site of the rift.

Steve watched Thor, but whatever magic had been in the well-water had faded. He couldn't see a thing beyond the room itself.

"Someone intervened," Thor said, quietly. "I know only three Asgardians capable of wielding this kind of magic. And two of them are dead." He let out a heavy breath, turned on his heel and strode immediately towards the door, grabbing his pants as he went.

Steve and Bucky watched him leave, then Bucky turned to Steve. "That was Thor, right?"

"Yup," Steve said. "I would've introduced you, but, uh..."

"The guy really knows how to make a first impression." Bucky shook his head, a strand of his hair falling down in front of his eyes.

Steve tucked the strand back behind Bucky's ear, and leaned in for another kiss, hooking his arms around Bucky's waist to bring them both closer together.

Gently, Bucky pulled back, ran his thumb over Steve's lips, lingering there a moment before he dropped his hand to Steve's shoulder. "He's probably right, though" Bucky said, "about how I can't be here. I mean, this is an afterlife for worthy warriors, right?"

"Yeah, but Thor's here too, and he's still very much alive."

"That's not what I meant." Bucky looked down, with a crooked half smile. "I've heard enough about this place to know that life and death aren't the same for the Asgardians as they are for us." He cocked his head to the side, eyes averted. "I meant the worthy part. Thor's right. I don't belong here."

"What?" Steve said, so taken aback that he couldn't think of a counter-argument quickly enough. Of course Bucky belonged here, as much as Steve did, except that he still had a life to live on Earth. "No, you--"

Bucky scoffed. "Come on, you know it's true. After what I did? And...occasionally still do?" His brow furrowed. "I've got a lot to answer for."

Steve shook his head. The fact that Bucky still blamed himself after everything that had happened to him was ludicrous. It was maddening. It was Bucky. A laugh burst out of him then, half-hysterics, half-incredulity. "You're unbelievable." He sat up on his knees, took Bucky's head in his hands and tilted his chin up, locking eyes. "You need forgiveness? Is that what this is?"

Bucky stared at him, blinked, eyes shining. "Yeah— yeah I do."

"Then I forgive you," Steve said and pulled himself in close for a kiss. "For everything you did." He kissed Bucky again, deeper. "For everything you didn't do."

They kissed again, teeth grazing skin.

"And for everything you're about to do."

Bucky made a sound deep in his throat and pulled Steve up into his lap.

And Steve felt _alive._

#

Loki looked around the small room in dismay. _This is no way to live,_ he thought. He walked towards the ratty couch, nose wrinkling. It smelled of stale beer and old paper.

There were pictures on the windowsill—in small wooden and metal frames. Pictures of Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Pictures of Steve Rogers decorated in medals. Pictures of Steve and the other... _Avengers_ —some familiar, some he'd never seen before. There was even a picture of Steve with Thor. They were _smiling_. Irritated, Loki called on his staff—which he knew was still here on Midgard—willing it to him. He'd satisfied the portal, saved Thor's life. Now he had to get back to Asgard and resume his post as Odin before someone noticed his absence. Before _Thor_ suspected...

His hand was still empty. Loki concentrated harder, willing the staff to him. But it didn't appear.

He tried again and again, more frustrated and alarmed with every passing second. Without his staff, he wouldn't have enough power to get back to Asgard. It was his only way home. Calling on Heimdall was out of the question.

A knock came from the front door of the apartment. "Hey!"

The voice was unfamiliar. Loki glared at the door. He had more important things to do than deal with whoever this was.

"You ready, or did you oversleep again?"

Loki didn't know who his visitor was, but he knew who they were expecting to find. He crossed the room, casting a glamour as he went, recalling with perfect detail the filthy clothing Bucky had been wearing. With a resigned sigh, he opened the door.

The man on the other side—one of the Avengers in the photo—gave him a lopsided grin, and then glanced down at the floor. "Get your shoes on, Barnes."

Loki looked down at his toes.

"Seriously, next time I'm just gonna bring my wings and fly right up to your window." He chuckled. "Maybe throw some pebbles at your head."

"Charming," Loki said, making an effort to sound pleasant. He walked back into the apartment and found a pair of worn sneakers a few feet away from the door. He slipped them on, grinding his teeth.

"No socks?"

Loki stared at him. Did it matter?

"Whatever man, let's go. Nice morning for a run."

A run. So they were on a mission then, perhaps chasing down some miscreant who'd done something nefarious. Loki felt himself start to smile, much to his own surprise. He'd been in exile for so long, hiding who he was—a forgotten god pretending to be a king—and he'd convinced himself it wasn't out of shame, but in his heart, he knew better. He _was_ ashamed, and he had to redeem himself. Only then could he call on Heimdall to return him to his rightful place. Surely, if he helped the Avengers take down a few criminals, that would prove that he'd learned humility, prove that he deserved forgiveness—perhaps even from Thor. "Who are we after?" he asked as he stood, ready to face any foe, no matter how terrible.

"What?"

Loki refused to let his confusion show on his face.

"Man, how much did you have to drink last night?"

"I—"

"Let's go. Sun's climbing."

Loki followed his 'friend' out the door and onto the street.

About five minutes later, he'd determined that they weren't running after anyone. They were running for the sake of running. The Midgardian air tasted of sweat, gasoline and dog urine. His feet hurt. He should have put on socks.

Surely, this was penance enough.

They rounded the corner; the sun glinted off the water of the lake, and for a moment, Loki saw the oceans of Asgard. His heart ached as he thought of home, his lost mother, and of Thor. After all that he'd done, after everything he'd suffered because of Thor, for Thor—no matter how much Loki willed it to not be so—he still loved his brother more than anything. And he would earn his forgiveness.


End file.
